Chapter Twenty Seven
Rose stood in the middle of her chamber while Iris fitted a long, cream-colored lace veil over her unbound curls.
Elizabeth clasped her hands together as a dreamy smile spread over lips. “Rose, you look beautiful.”
Iris circled around Rose and smiled. “You are, indeed, lovely.”
Rose smoothed her hands down her new turquoise tunic. She had picked out the color knowing Tristan favored the watery blue on her. Silver beaded slippers peeked out beneath the hem of her butter yellow kirtle.
Rose fidgeted with her hands as she considered the fine garments. “Ye don’t think ‘tis all a bit much?”
“On the contrary, I wish you would wear one of my bejeweled headdresses, or an amulet to adorn the neckline.”
Rose shook her head. “I ken I may appear plain to yer eyes, but I’m not accustomed to such finery.”
A soft rapping on the door drew all their gazes. A moment later, Betsy appeared, her face flushed with excitement. “Darby has brought your horses to the courtyard. ’Tis time to head to the church.”
Rose gripped her fists to hide her shaking hands. Her stomach fluttered. Her heart raced. It was time to go to church. She was marrying Tristan Thatcher—for real this time.
“Rose, you’re suddenly so pale,” Iris exclaimed, wrapping her arm around Rose’s shoulders. “I didn’t mean to make you fret over your simple veil. Truly, you look lovely. You’ve naught to be nervous about.”
Except that I’m getting married!
Of course, Iris couldn’t know the real reason for Rose’s nerves. If she were a new bride, then Rose’s pale complexion or racing heart would not just be readily understood, it would be expected. But as far as Iris and Elizabeth knew, Rose and Tristan were already wed.
Rose took a deep breath. “Thank ye, Iris,” she said, pressing a kiss to her mother-in-law’s cheek. Then she reached for Elizabeth and pulled her into a tight embrace. “And thank ye, sweetling.”
Elizabeth squealed as she hugged Rose close. “Sisters! We are sisters.”
This time, the mention of sisterhood didn’t cause Rose to cringe with guilt. Instead, her heart flooded with warmth. She smiled down at Elizabeth. “Aye, we are sisters.”
“Come along now,” Iris said, crossing the room to the open door. “Let us not keep the men waiting.”
With her new mother on her left and her new sister on her right, Rose stepped out into the courtyard and gasped. Three large white horses with stunning cream-colored manes knickered and stomped at the ground, impatient to be on their way. And standing by one was Davy.
Rose beamed at him. “Davy, whatever are ye doing here?”
Davy bowed low at the waist. When he stood straight, his smile stretched from ear to ear. “Captain’s orders. He said you’re not as comfortable on horseback as you are climbing the rigging.” He offered her his hand. “I’m here to take you to church.”
He led her over to one of the horses. Crouching down, he wove his fingers together. Rose gripped the saddle and placed her foot in Davy’s hand. He lifted her onto the horse, then swung up behind her, his arms encircling her waist.
“Do ye have to hold me so tight?” Rose asked.
“No,” Davy answered, but his hold around her waist didn’t loosen.
“Davy,” Rose said, a hint of scolding in her voice.
“These scrawny arms have dreamt of holding ye,” he confessed.
Rose laughed. “Ye ken I’m closer to yer mum’s age than yers.”
He shrugged. “I like to hold my mum tight, too.”
She threw her head back with laughter. “All right then, Davy, take me to church.”
He nudged the horse’s flanks. They trotted through the gate and down the road toward the heart of the city.
Stone homes with slate roofs and large courtyards lined the roadside.
But the closer they drew to the wharf the smaller and more numerous the buildings became, many made from wood with thatch roofs.
The roads narrowed and twisted in a maze, teeming with wagons, horses, vendors, children racing, and page boys delivering messages.
The din and crowds made Rose long for her island home.
She was relieved when Davy reined in their horse in front of a lovely stone kirk. He hopped down and beamed up at her as he helped her to her feet.
“Thank ye, Davy,” she said and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
His ears turned red. “Thank you,” he said wistfully.
Then he took her arm and escorted her up the stairs.
When she neared the landing, the large wooden doors swung wide.
Ian stood in the doorway in a fine tunic with his long red hair pulled away from his face.
Straightaway, he stepped forward and swept her into his arms. He squeezed her tight, and when he set her down, his bright blue eyes warmed her heart.
“When I went to meet ye yesterday, Moira gave me yer message.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t go myself, but we’ve all been scrambling to make arrangements for today.”
“Look at ye,” he said, holding her arms out. “Ye’re beautiful. I cannot tell ye how happy I am for ye.”
She took a deep breath and smiled. “I hope Jack will come to share in our joy. He’ll be furious with me for leaving the way I did.”
Ian nodded. “Aye, he will, but when ye return home in one piece, he’ll forgive ye in no time at all.” He shrugged. “Anyway, how often have ye been left behind, while we’ve set out.”
Rose stood straighter. “That is true. For years, I’ve been fretting after all of ye.”
The gentle clearing of a throat behind them drew Rose’s gaze. She turned to find Iris and Elizabeth smiling up at them expectantly from the foot of the stairs. Rose motioned to the large, red-haired man. “This is my youngest brother, Ian.”
Iris climbed the steps. “We were delighted to hear of Rose having family in town. I am Tristan’s stepmother, Iris.” Then she turned to Elizabeth who followed just behind her. “And this is my daughter, Elizabeth.”
Ian bowed low to Tristan’s sister. “’Tis a pleasure to meet ye,” he said.
Elizabeth blushed a lovely pink and dipped in a curtsy, but she did not return Ian’s greeting. Rose had to swallow her laughter. For the first time since Rose met her, Elizabeth appeared tongue-tied.
“Here you are,” Owen said, appearing in the doorway. He strode over to Rose and clasped her hands. “You are a vision,” he said before wrapping her in a warm embrace. “Every day I thank God that my son has more sense than I.”
He turned to Iris and Elizabeth. “It is time, ladies. I will escort you both inside.” Then he winked at Ian and Rose. “When you are ready, you know what to do.”
After Tristan’s family went ahead, Ian led Rose into the vestibule. Once again, her heart started to race and her palms to sweat, but she dared not wipe them on her silk tunic. She swallowed hard.
“Saints above, I’m getting married,” she blurted and made the sign of the cross.
Ian looked down at her curiously. “Rose, ye’re all red and flustered. What is the matter? Ye’re already married. The priest is just going to do the vows as a blessing.”
“That’s just it,” she said, speaking in a desperate whisper. She grabbed Ian’s hand. “Tristan and I have only been pretending to be married.”
“What?” he said, loudly, his voice echoing around them.
“Wheest,” she snapped.
“What the hell are ye talking about, Rose?”
“We only pretended to be married so that he didn’t have to marry the daughter of a wicked Baron, and so I could have the Messenger.”
Ian shook his head, “Ye’re not making any sense. Just tell me this, do I need to beat the hell out of Tristan, or not?”
She thrust her finger in his face. “Don’t ye threaten him.”
Ian threw up his hands. “Do ye love him, Rose?”
“With my whole heart,” she vowed.
He stopped then and smiled. “Then what are we waiting here for?”
She chewed her lip. “Courage, I think.”
Ian cupped her cheeks. “Remember, yer destiny is yers to make.”
Tears flooded her eyes. “I followed the stars just like ye told me to, and I found him.”
Ian held out his arm for her. “If he has earned yer love, then I want nothing more than to have the honor of walking ye down the aisle.”
Rose took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her eyes. On Ian’s arm, she stepped into the chapel. Sunlight slanted through the stained-glass window in beams of color. And there, standing at the alter with Philip at his side, was Tristan.
Her heart leapt as he smiled at her.
Suddenly, her nerves disappeared. The chapel faded away. The murmur of voices no longer penetrated her ears. There was only Tristan.
They stood now, holding each other’s hands, speaking vows that had been etched on their hearts since the beginning of time.
When he lowered his lips to hers the chapel erupted in cheers from the Messenger’s crew.
Rose blushed when Tristan pulled away and smiled at the men who whistled and waved despite their holy surroundings.
After the ceremony, she stood beside her husband while Tristan’s friends and family congratulated them, calling her Mistress Thatcher.
More than once, she felt a rush of relief knowing that this time it was all real.
When Philip appeared in front of her, she threw her arms around his neck, incapable of holding in her delight.
“I always knew pretense would become reality,” he whispered. He pulled away and smiled down at her. “The sea is a faithful mistress and rewards those whose love is real.”
“Thank ye, Philip,” she said. “I would not be here were it not for ye.”
“You are here because of who you are,” he said. Then he bowed to her. “I wish you both every happiness.”
The next moment, Philip’s trim, elegant figure was replaced by Ian and Ramsay’s massive frames. They both slapped Tristan on the back.
“We’ll be sailing for the isles in a few days if you want to join us,” Tristan offered to Ian.
Ian rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, ye see, Captain, I’m not ready to return home just yet, but I do, in fact, need passage north for myself.” He motioned then to the large, blond blacksmith behind him. “And for Ramsay, and some...er...cargo.”
Tristan nodded. “That should be no problem. What sort of cargo?”
Ian smiled. “Oh, ye know, ‘tis just a bit of this and that, odds and ends and what not,” he said, winking at Rose.
At that moment, she knew she had to tell Tristan about her family of Scottish Outlaws, but when he suddenly swung her up into his arms and carried her out of the church and set her on his white steed, she decided it could wait another day.